


Our Own Merry War

by ThatgirlnamedEleanor



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/M, Laura-centric, Road Trips, The thin line between love and hate, competitive arguing, two assholes together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatgirlnamedEleanor/pseuds/ThatgirlnamedEleanor
Summary: "The both of them fell silent and smiled out at the landscape as it rushed past; as they drove back towards reality, where they hated each other with a vengeance and had absolutely nothing in common.Nothing whatsoever."Laura really, really hates Mad Sweeney.





	Our Own Merry War

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most random thing I've ever written, but I fell in love with episode 7 and just couldn't resist. It's also the first fanfic I've properly finished in ages, so I couldn't just not post it. I just hope someone else loves this ship you guys, because it has taken over my soul and I'm not even joking. Hope I've done them justice!

“When you die, you rot.” she’d once said, and she hadn't exactly been wrong. She could feel herself rotting as they drove on and on through dusty nowhere, could literally fucking feel it, and it sucked. It wasn't painful or anything, but there was almost the sense of something missing. She could still feel things, but faintly, and her flesh was slowly softening in the heat, her skin becoming tighter, constrictive. She was glad that she couldn't taste anything, because she knew that if she could, she'd taste of decay. It was all very disconcerting but she refused to focus on it. She'd find Shadow, or Sweeney’s fucking promised miracle worker, and her heart would beat again. Though how that would actually work, with all her organs disconnected, she didn't know. Yet another thing she refused to focus on.

Emotions, in a very inconvenient way, she could still feel in all their intensity. Right now, she hated Sweeney. Intensely. Salim was harmless and almost adorable in his devotion, and she had no doubt that was she to just be in this car with him, she'd be a lot happier. But the inconvenient truth was that she wasn't. She was stuck in this fucking car with this fucking asshole of a man and it was taking every piece of self control she possessed to not rip his smug, smirking face off.

She saw him glance at her, just briefly, in the mirror, and her fists clenched reflexively, ready for a fight. Annoyance and irritation with no heartbeat to quicken was an odd sensation, and it only made her hate him more. She caught his eyes and held contact for just long enough for him to raise an amused eyebrow, and she looked away, seething. Lightning a cigarette, she stared deliberately and forcefully out of the window. Fields rolled by as she flicked ash out of the car, leaving residue behind, proof that she had been here once and, against all logic, still was.

 

* * *

 

It would be nice to believe that her new ability to locate Shadow was a result of some cosmic, fated true love, but she was too cynical to actually buy into it. Not that anyone needed to know that. As far as Sweeney was concerned, she was as much in love with Shadow as Salim was with his jinn.

They'd stopped at a motel for the night, and for obvious reasons she was literally incapable of sleep. Not that she'd have wanted to- the place smelled of a different kind of decay, of dust and cobwebs and of time having moved on years, maybe even decades ago. The bedspreads were floral and the railings rusty, and whilst she really appreciated Salim having bought three separate rooms, she hadn't stayed in hers for much longer than a minute. She instead lay out on the grass in front, watching the stars, sensing that bugs everywhere wanted to burrow into her, but just for now not caring enough to move. Crickets were chirping in the warm, musty air, and for just a moment, she felt peace.

And then she heard footsteps.

She sat up and turned around in one fluid motion, drying tendons creaking in protest. Anticipating an attack, she was both relieved and deeply, deeply disappointed to see Sweeney sauntering towards her. Before she had a chance to say anything, he flopped down on the grass beside her, not looking at her but still making her feel like she was being watched. She wished for a fleeting moment that she had had long nails before she died. A slight clawing would do him good.

“So,” he said, still staring at the sky, “You still hoping lover boy’ll take you back?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” she spat, then felt illogically bad. Emotions. They were so inconvenient.

“Just tryin’ to figure you out. Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“I mean, honestly?”

“ _Yes_ , okay! Now can you kindly fuck the hell off and leave me alone?”

He didn't reply for ages, and for a moment she thought she'd genuinely upset him. Chance would be a fine thing. She doubted he had feelings.

“Y’know, Dead Wife, belief is everything. Belief can make a god out of anything and anyone, even your man Shadow.”

“What's your point?”

“My point- if you're ever gonna let me speak- is that if you believe that Shadow can miraculously save you from death, he can. That's the way faith works.”

She took a moment to digest this.

“So… what you’re suggesting is that I've given Shadow the ability to make my heart beat again by _believing_ he can?”

“People’ve created all kinds of crazy shit by believing it exists. People dreamed me up.”

“Yeah, well, I wish they hadn't.” It was a low blow, even for her, but she couldn't find it in her to really care.

Amazingly, he laughed, low and quiet. “If they hadn't, you wouldn't be alive right now, Dead Wife.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” She exploded, suddenly reaching the limit of her tolerance. “Can you stop fucking calling me that?! It's Laura!”

This time, when he laughed, it was so close to a proper, honest to god chuckle that she looked over in amazement.

He held eye contact for just a few seconds, and then said, with a shit eating grin: “Your wish is my command, _Laura._ ” Her name didn't sound like hers in his voice.

She stood up, angry and confused and tired, so fucking tired of being dead. She stomped back to her room and didn't look back once, didn't spare a single thought towards him, other than to wish she could punch him hard enough that his nose bled. The blood would probably clash with his beard. She was strangely pleased by the thought.

 

* * *

 

It was he who actually pointed it out first, much to her annoyance. They'd both been silent in the ice cream van for a good few hours now, driving on and on, seemingly perpetually. Beneath the jacket, she could feel her organs shifting, trying to spill out, held back by what little skin she had left and jostling around like sand in an hourglass. She needed something to distract her from the sensation, otherwise she thought she might throw up (even if that was technically impossible). So, naturally, she began bickering in a now familiar way with Sweeney.

They sent insults back and forth like some kind of verbal tennis match with no clear winner. They ranged from the factual (“You cheated on your husband whilst he was in in fuckin’ prison!” “Yeah? Well you're an obnoxious dick who doesn't know when to shut up!”) to the personal (“You smell absolutely fuckin’ rancid, like I'm not even kidding, it's bad.” “You're one to talk, you smell like you haven't bathed in literal years, at least I have an excuse!”) and as they went along, she almost began to find it fun. He argued like it was an Olympic sport, and she delighted in proving herself a worthy opponent.

“You're only helping me out of selfishness!” she fired across like a shot, thinking it was a safe bet, because he was. He had a strange kind of moral compass, it was true, but when it came to this he was only thinking of himself. His reply was therefore disconcerting:

“Then why did I give you back my coin, eh?”

She was silent for a moment. “Don't pretend you care.”

“What if I do?”

She didn't look over at him, wanting to keep her eyes on the road- she couldn't exactly afford to destroy her body further. “If you do, you have a funny way of showing it.”

He didn't speak for a few moments. She looked over, just for a second, and found him staring out of the window, looking unusually serious.

“I've met very few people like you in my life, Dead Wife. We're the same.”

“How in the hell are we similar?”

She saw him smile out of the corner of her eye, half smug, half indulgent.

“We’re just as bad as each other.”

With him being, annoyingly, right, she had nothing to say in reply. She instead leaned over carefully and flicked his arm. Childish, but still incredibly satisfying.

The both of them fell silent and smiled out at the landscape as it rushed past; as they drove back towards reality, where they hated each other with a vengeance and had absolutely nothing in common.

Nothing whatsoever.

 

* * *

 

Shadow had always been too good for her. Too good in general, really- too caring, too kind, to get mixed up with her. But of course, she'd let him, because she was at heart a selfish bitch, and knew it too. She'd gone through their marriage enjoying playing the part of his caring, loving wife, and yet always feeling alone. It wasn't Shadow’s fault, and he would never know that that was how she’d felt, but it was there.

If there was any silver lining to being around Sweeney, it was the ability to be herself. She could be as much of an asshole as she wanted, and he would give it back in equal measure. It was thrilling, liberating, even occasionally enjoyable.

 Not that she'd ever tell him that. Their particular brand of hatred was just too much fun.


End file.
